Unified
by Minstrel of Madness
Summary: Oh, how France would have been different if he had only managed to deliver that blasted letter. A series of one-shots exploring the potential relationship between Arno and Élise in a world without the French Revolution. AU. Rated T for suggestive content.


**Hey there! Welcome to a new side project I'm starting.**

 **I finally got around to finishing the story mode for Unity and decided I wanted to write about our two favorite Parisians, but wasn't entirely sure in what context. Well, I ended up taking a few major liberties with the plot and inadvertently created an AU. This story will be a series of oneshots exploring Arno and Élise's relationship within this remarkable little universe of mine (basically it all revolves around Arno not getting Élise's father killed in Versailles), so to avoid confusion for this first one I've made a list of things to keep in mind. Do remember that these scenes will not necessarily occur in chronological order, and they take place in a completely different reality and thus will not follow specific story details of the game's plot at all. They will, however, include major details about characters and such.**

 **1) François de la Serre is still alive (this will be explained in a future installment to this story).**

 **2) So is Élise (obviously).**

 **3) Arno is still part of the Assassin Brotherhood, though for different reasons than in the game.**

 **4) Germain's coup d'etat within the Parisian Rite has failed.**

 **5) Grandmaster de la Serre and Mentor Mirabeau are still trying to reconcile the Parisian Templars and Assassins.**

 **I'm sure you probably have a lot of questions, and I plan to reveal them in future installments. In the meantime, enjoy the ensuing fluff! Please take the time to review, as well!**

* * *

 **Intimité**

Arno Victor Dorian was starting to enjoy climbing things.

Perhaps it was the crispness of the air once he hit a certain altitude, or the breathtaking view he observed when he got to the top, or the sweet rush of adrenaline he felt upon realizing that one wrong move could send him plummeting to his death.

He smiled, breathing in the cool, clear air as he scaled the wall. In any case, it was exhilarating.

"Arno, this is _hardly_ romantic," came a slightly agitated voice from underneath him.

"Just a few more handholds!" he called back. "You're going to love this!"

"And _you're_ going to be sorely disappointed tomorrow afternoon if I fall!"

"Ha! You're as clever as you are beautiful!" He hauled himself over the edge of the roof with a labored grunt and dusted himself off before offering a steady hand to the red-haired lady climbing beneath him.

She rolled her eyes as she grabbed his hand and pulled herself up. "You're ridiculous."  
"You know you love me," he teased, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. "After all, I have to be at least _somewhat_ likable to marry the great Élise de la Serre."

Élise raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful shove. "Careful with the flattery, Arno." A devilish grin crossed her face as she nodded to the edge of the building. "I'd hate to have to shove you. That's a long way to fall."

Arno smirked. "Then _I_ won't be the one who's sorely disappointed tomorrow afternoon."

"Then I suppose it's for the best that neither one of us falls off this roof."

"I would have to agree." He leaned in close, so that their eyes were mere inches apart. With no more warning than a simple smile, he thrust his lips onto hers and kissed her. She seemed surprised, but did not protest, soon returning the kiss herself. "Now," he said when their lips finally broke apart. He took hold of her wrist. "Are you ready to see this?"

He led her to the edge opposite where they stood. Below them, all of Paris stretched for miles into the horizon. Thousands of lights flickered like fireflies in the dark, so that the ground almost matched the starry sky. This was his favorite spot to visit; from up here he could see nearly everything in the whole city. And tonight, he wanted to share it with the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

He waited with bated breath for her reaction. He couldn't wait to hear all the wonderful, delightful things she would have to say about it. He wanted her to love it just as much as he did.

"It's… nice," she whispered tentatively, as if she were looking for the right words to describe the scene and couldn't find them.

The Assassin chuckled and shook his head. "That's it?" he scoffed. "All the trouble I take to bring you up here and you have to say is, and I quote, 'it's nice.'"

Élise frowned. "Arno, you know it's not like that. It really is–"

"No, no, it's fine!" he interrupted with a laugh. "I just suppose I shouldn't be in charge of choosing the destination for our wedding. Oh, wait."

Élise gave a little giggle before turning back to look at the cityscape. "I'll rescind my earlier statement, then. This," she gestured to the thousands of buildings spread out before them, "is magnificent."

Arno wrapped his arms around his fiancée's waist. "I'm pleased you like it, _mon amour_." He pressed his lips against the top of her scarlet hair, and smiled. "Your hair smells like strawberries."

"And _yours_ does not," she laughed, turning around to face him. "When we're married I'm making it a general rule that you bathe at least once a day."

"At _least_?" Arno feigned incredulousness. He put the back of his hand to his forehead, dramatically faking a swoon as he did. "How ever shall I cope?"

"Oh, but don't you worry, _mon chéri_ ," Élise replied with a sultry wink. "I promise I'll make it _quite_ worth your while."

Arno raised an eyebrow. "Now, Élise." He pointed at her and spoke in a low, gravelly voice, mimicking her father. "Fine young ladies do not say such things."

"They do to their husbands," she replied, her tone dangerously seductive.

"Ah, yes, but he is not your husband yet. You must focus on more important things."

"Such as?"

"Such as killing Assassins and putting on makeup."

Élise put a hand on Arno's chest, walking her fingers up his shirt buttons with a sly grin. "What my father does not know won't hurt him." She grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled him in for another sensational kiss.

Time seemed to freeze. In that moment, there was nothing else. There was no Revolution. There was no Assassin Brotherhood, no Templar Order. No Monarchy, no Extremist Revolutionaries, no Loyalists, nothing. Just them. Arno savored the sweet taste of Élise's delectable lips as he held her in his arms. One kiss turned into five, and then five into ten.

"You're delightful," he said between kisses.

"You're insatiable."

They separated, and Élise gazed out on the city below them. There was still a smile on her face, but it had become more of a pensive, melancholy one. She sighed heavily. "When I was a little girl in Versailles," she said almost mournfully, "my mother would tell me so many stories about Paris. ' _Le Ville Magnifique,_ ' she would call it. She'd always promise me that one day I would see it for myself, and I would be so amazed at what I saw. And now here I am..." Arno caught a glimpse of a tear run down her face. "It truly is magnificent, Arno, but it's not the same without..."

Her voice trailed off. Arno shook his head sympathetically, gently taking her hand. "Élise…" He brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her lovely face. "I know it hurts…"

She buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt and his ascot. "It's unfair," she whispered through tearful shudders. "All of it. She should be here, with us." Her sobs turned into gentle wails as Arno held her close. "She loved you as if you were her own son, Arno. She used to tell me that she wanted you to be my husband some day, that you were the only boy she knew worthy of marrying me."

She paused and drew a deep breath in between her tears. "She wanted us together, despite knowing you would become my mortal enemy. And here we are, together, just like she always wanted, but she isn't here to see any of it."

Whatever control she had previously vanished, and she howled in misery into Arno's shoulder. Tears streamed down her face in small rivers. Arno's heart broke for her. He knew firsthand the pain she felt; his father's death had occurred only a few years before her mother's.

He pulled her close to him, softly running his fingers through her crimson locks, peppering her with gentle kisses as she poured her tears into his chest. "Shhh… it's alright." He slowly rubbed her back. "I'm here, I'm right here."

For several moments they stood there in silence, save for her sobs.

"I miss her, Arno. Ten years later and it still feels like yesterday."

"I miss her too." He wiped her tears from her emerald eyes with his thumb. "But you have to be strong, Élise," he told her, kissing her forehead again. "For your father, and for your Order. Your mother— _our_ mother—wouldn't want this for you. She'd want you to be happy. After all," he chuckled, "in twenty-four hours you will be the wife of the most devilishly handsome man in all of France."

Élise managed a laugh through her tears, and sighed. She placed her hands behind his neck, and, with shaky breaths and puffy eyes, smiled at him. "Yes, I certainly will be," she said before leaning into his embrace and kissing him again.

Arno shut his eyes and allowed himself to be lost in the rhythm of their love. He had heard it said that French lovers were much more physical than couples of others nationalities, and he supposed his relationship with Élise fit that stereotype quite nicely. They had shared over four or five _dozen_ passionate kisses before, not even counting the quick, casual pecks. But only a few of even the most electrifying ones had ever felt this energetic, this alive. Their kiss was a dance, and their mouths were the dancers. He drank in the rush of adrenaline that Élise's soft, delicate lips sent through his blood as she moaned quietly into his mouth. His arm circled her waist once again, and her hands moved from his neck to his back to his hair to his cheeks to his chest and back again.

Each time their mouths glided over each other, his heart beat faster and faster. Soon, she would be his. This time tomorrow, the loveliest girl he had ever laid his eyes on would be his wife. After all they had been through, all they'd struggled with, all they'd suffered, they were together, and would be for the rest of their lives.

He pulled his lips away and pressed his forehead to hers. "Is this romantic enough for you?"

Élise rubbed her nose against his with a chuckle. "I think so."

Off in the distance, the thundering fireworks began to illuminate the sky. It was well past midnight, he knew, and Élise's father would likely be wondering where they were. It was a long trip back to Versailles, even for a Master Assassin as himself.

"We'd better return to your father's estate before he decides to revoke his blessing." He led her to the edge of the building once again.

Élise laughed in earnest, her tears all but gone by now. "And how do you plan to do that, _Assassin_?" she mocked.

"We'll take a carriage?" he offered with a devilish grin on his face.

"Right, because stealing a carriage is a _very_ ethical solution."

"Who said anything about stealing? I'm simply borrowing it."

She put her hands on her hips with a playful chuckle. "Mm- _hm_. Is this more of that 'everything is permitted' nonsense?"

"Perhaps." He leapt over the side of the building, using the edge as a handhold before carefully lowering himself down the wall. "Now, come on! We should at least try to get a little sleep tonight."

"And why's that?"

"Because I suspect we won't be doing much of it tomorrow night!"

Élise giggled as she followed Arno down the wall. "You _were_ always a bad influence," she said.

"Oh, _you_ were a worse one," he replied.


End file.
